


In Some Other Life

by Imperfect_Sentence



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8905921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperfect_Sentence/pseuds/Imperfect_Sentence
Summary: In some other life, Cassian and Jyn are standing side by side and laughing that, in some other life, they are apart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw Rogue One over the weekend and naturally had to write some angsty smex to try and get over the the ending (which I thought was perfect - I love a tragedy that hurts so good). 
> 
> Depending on how I feel, I might elaborate on this piece in someway. I initially wrote a few additional scenes but couldn't get them to flow so I gave up with the intention of trying again later (with hopefully more inspiration). Until then...

_“In some other life, we are standing side by side and laughing that, in some other life, we are apart.” – David Jones_

 

In some other life, he makes love to her.

He follows her back to the start, back to Lah’mu. He has never heard of this tiny green planet in the Outer Rim Territories but if the universe has an end he thinks it would be here. How fitting that someone like her, so full of contradictions, would have her beginnings rooted in such fertile earth. Like a vine, her destiny could have unfurled any which way. And yet every time he knows she would still seek out the stones, the too bright sunlight, the road less travelled, even if it killed her. And every time he would find her, or she would find him, because he believes in his marrow, in his soul, that they’re connected, that their lives are halves of some greater whole, and he couldn’t avoid her, couldn’t run from her, if he tried.

When she kisses him, escape is the furthest thing from his mind. She kisses the same way she does everything, with blinding speed, passion and intensity. Fingers tangling in his hair, she bites at his jaw, at his lips, and sucks hard on his tongue until he’s breathless and dizzy and sick with want for her. Her mouth is blazing and she tastes clean and fresh like the air. She is both too much and never enough. 

She presses him down onto the blanket, a cotton island upon an ocean of lush green grass. She has somehow managed to wriggle out of her shirt and he can feel the warmth of the sunlight along the length of her back. Her pale skin is soft and smooth but threaded with scars: an old knife wound here, a blaster bolt there. Even if she had seen a thousand wars, he thinks, she would still be perfect. He respects a woman’s ability to stitch herself back together when she breaks and no woman is better at it than Jyn.

With unbridled urgency, she strips their clothes until there’s nothing between them, her breasts soft and full against his chest, her greedy little hands seemingly everywhere at once. When she takes his cock in hand, her fingers calloused, her thighs slick over his, what’s left of the air rushes out of him and he has to close his eyes and think of aviation manuals and call signs to keep from spilling too soon. Her mouth curls into a tiny smile as if reading his mind. The glint in her eyes is a splinter in his heart and he can’t help kissing her, his fingers cupping the back of her head, his fingers weaving through her hair, which is hanging long and loose, free of her military-style bun.

She breaks the kiss and rears back on him, his hands sliding down to her hips to keep her steady. Her wide green eyes are locked with his. 

“Watch me,” she says, as if she’s not the only thing he sees, as if she’s not there every single time he closes his eyes. 

She positions herself over his cock, rubbing it along her slit, coating it with her slickness. She’s so wet; the heat of her is overwhelming. When she starts to lower herself on to him, she moans low and quiet, and it takes all his strength do as she says and not let his head fall back. He can’t miss this. Not the way her body opens to him, the way her mouth goes slack, eyes glazing. By the time her pelvis is flush against his, her skin is rosy from her cheeks to her chest.

“I already want to do this again,” he murmurs, fingers tight on her hips.

She rolls her eyes at him but her smile broadens nonetheless. She rides him slowly then more quickly, her mouth red and wet, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. She looks so powerful, like some sort of goddess. He reaches up to palm her breast, feeling her nipple harden under his thumb. With his other hand, he smooths a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He’s trying to be tender, trying to savour this, but she moves faster and faster as if racing towards the finish line and, Force, why is she always in such a hurry? She’ll be the death of him, he swears.

Without warning, he flips her onto her back. The surprise on her face is almost comical. She scowls at him, eyes narrow, the crease between her brows begging for a kiss. He’s still hard inside her and she grinds against him restlessly.

“Move already,” she threatens.

He quirks an eyebrow at her and pulls out of her completely. She whines and glares at him, looking like she really will murder him, and he laughs because people don’t kill people in this life because there is only beauty and love and her and him: the two of them together, forever and always.

He takes pity on her and slides down her body, pushing her legs apart. She looks pretty here too – pink and swollen from his cock – and he can’t help but taste her, licking and sucking until she’s gasping, hair fanning out over the blanket and getting stuck to her forehead. Force, she tastes good - musky and tart. He'd sup on nothing else until the end of his days. When he slips a finger into her, pushing it deep, she arches her back and begs for another. He pretends not to hear and before long she's bearing down on his finger, grinding against his mouth, swearing and carrying on, her fingers near tearing out his hair. When he finally relents and adds a second finger, she's so tight all he can think about is her clenching around his cock. He curls his fingers up inside her, pressing them hard against that secret spot, thrusting them in time with his hips like he’s fucking her again and, Force, he wants to, he just needs to feel her break, needs to feel her –

She comes slowly then all at once, her body convulsing, her cunt fluttering around his fingers, noises like sobs escaping her. She pulls him up by his hair and kisses him deeply, her tongue chasing the taste of herself in his mouth, on his lips, on his beard. He slides back into her then, desperate with want, with need, and he means what he said: he already wants to do this again, wants to do this forever, over and over and over, and somehow he knows it won't be enough, it can't be. When he comes it’s like she’s carving him open, like he’s falling apart, but she holds him through it and he thinks maybe this is heaven.

*

In some other life, he she lies with him afterwards, her head resting on his chest, her legs tangled with his.

“Sometimes I dream I was born in snow,” she says quietly, her palm resting over his heart. “And that I die in fire.”

His mouth goes dry. “Don’t be an idiot.”

But he holds her tighter.

*

In every life, even this one with its cruel and violent end, he loves her. He loves her with all that he was, all that he is, and all that he could have been if the world were a better place, one not so filled with hate. Only there is no better place. No other life. All there is and ever was is right now, and their time has run out. All he can do is hold her close, hold her tight, so that when the light touches them it is bright and beautiful and endless like hope and the shimmering stars.


End file.
